Envenomed
by Master Procrastinator
Summary: Cast through the Veil in the moment of victory and into another world, Harry is immediately set upon by some sparkly abomination that apparently thinks he looks rather tasty. Well, he never did have the best of luck. Vampire!Harry. Still-A-Wizard!Harry. Pairing (if any) undecided. No Slash. Unbeta'd.
1. Bow To Death

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight. If you don't know who **does** own them then I can only assume you've been living under a rock for the past decade or so._

Envenomed

Chapter One: Bow to Death

The cavernous chamber hidden far beneath the busy streets of London was cloaked in swathes of shadow and lay smothered by the heavy cloak of silence. One might even say it was 'as silent as the grave'. If one were inclined towards the melodramatic that is. Though given the centrepiece of the room it was a phrase perhaps a little too close to the truth for comfort.

In the centre of the amphitheatre-like room was a pit, and in the centre of the pit was a raised dais. It was on that dais that an archway stood.

The archway was simple in construction, a pointed thing of cracked and crumbling stone. It had an aura of unfathomable age and appeared so ancient and decrepit that it was a wonder that it even remained still standing at all. But this was no mundane relic.

What stood it apart from any other crumbling ruined ancient structure was the tattered veil of ethereal ebony cloth that hung within. Despite the complete stillness of the chill air it fluttered slightly, as if touched by an unseen hand.

A solitary figure stood upon the dais peering pensively into the face of the artefact known to the Department of Mysteries simply as the Veil of Death. He stood tall and resolute, deceptively thin frame wrapped in robes of inky hue, hood shrouding his sallow and inhuman features from view.

Death had always fascinated him, even as a child. It was the great unknown, mysterious and unknowable. He respected it and yes, feared it too. Not that he would ever admit that uncomfortable fact to anyone, of course. Still, to watch the light leave an enemy's eyes, to see their soul cast into the void and know he held power over life and death… ah, now that was an intoxicating experience indeed.

The silence was not just broken but shattered as the plain black door was utterly disintegrated by an onslaught of spellfire. A red-robed figure barrelled into the room, wand held aloft, the expression of determination clear to be seen upon that youthful face. A collection of pouches hung from the belt cinched around the waist of his robes, a ruby-pomelled silvery blade adorning his left side.

Emerald eyes lit upon their target. The black robed man turned slowly, a deliberately casual motion. A swirl of dark cloth settled around him.

"Mr Potter. I have been expecting you."

The Dark Lord Voldemort drew back his hood, exposing waxy skin drawn tight over strangely reptilian features. Slitted red eyes seemed to glow faintly in the gloom.

"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Come here to me now to die, your saga begun at my hand and now come full circle. Poetic, isn't it?"

A cruel smirk played across that pale visage as sibilant tones dropped from thinned lips.

"Will you accept your fate gracefully, Harry? Kneel before Lord Voldemort and he shall grant you a swift death."

The young wizard gritted his teeth and growled out a response, the spark of rebellion lighting behind circular frames.

"Not going to happen, Tom. Your evil ends here, today."

The Dark wizard hissed in affront, slitted nostrils flaring, drawing himself up like a disturbed viper. Crimson eyes narrowed in anger.

"The name is Voldemort, _Potter_. You would do well to remember that."

Then, abruptly, he laughed. The high, cold sound raised the hairs on the back of Harry's neck. The unnatural resonance trailed like ghostly finger-tips down his spine.

"But no matter. You cannot truly be naïve enough to believe that you, a mere schoolboy of no remarkable talent could possibly defeat I; Lord Voldemort - the greatest sorcerer on Earth. The very notion is ludicrous."

The Dark Lord's lip curled into a sneer of disdain as he looked down his malformed nose at the young man who had been such a thorn in his side. He watched with interest as his adversary visibly swallowed an angry retort.

"Been working on managing that temper of yours I see. About time. Well then, since you've clearly made your mind up to be difficult about this, then I propose that we at least go about things in a civilised fashion. I trust that I need not remind you again how we begin."

A thin shaft of pale yew appeared in his hand, drawn quicker than the eye could follow. Yet he did not attack. Instead he leaned forwards in an elegant bow, arms out to the sides as if inviting assault.

With a look of obvious displeasure Harry stiffly followed suit. Albeit not nearly so deeply, and taking care to keep his wand up front in a defensive posture.

An incandescent flash of light burst from a wand of carven holly, chasing back the creeping shadows with its radiance. The flare was followed by a shouted invocation.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Ruby light blazed a trail through the air, only for the Dark wizard to catch it upon the tip of his own wand and bat it aside with a casual flick of his wrist. His arm blurred into motion as he responded with a volley of vibrant green bolts.

"Truly Harry, I am disappointed in you. You wasted a perfectly good opening with a _second-year_ charm of all things."

He shook his head mockingly.

"Why, if I didn't know any better I'd think you weren't taking me seriously!"

Voldemort cackled his amusement as he watched Harry duck and dodge frantically. The beams of death-magic slammed into the floor all around him, fragmenting stone and sending little fountains of shrapnel flying.

Harry's wand dipped, twisted and whirled in a complex pattern as he began to chain a succession of spells together. Incantations flowed unceasingly from his lips in a soft murmur. Multicoloured streams of magic were sent lancing towards his foe as he began circling the room.

"_Suffoca…"_ A darting greyish bolt.

"_Gelida Hasta…"_ A spear of ice spun out the air and flung itself forth.

"_Lacero…"_ An angry blood-red crescent.

"_Malleus Caeli…"_ A nigh invisible distortion that stirred the still air into life.

"_Perforo…"_ A shining spike of silvery energy.

"_Flamma Orbis…"_ A fiery orb roaring hungrily.

The Dark Lord moved with inhuman swiftness and serpentine grace, waving his arms like a master conductor as magic bent to his will. Curses were redirected midflight to disperse with muted flashes as they gouged scars in unyielding stone. Spears of ice shattered in midair, obliterated by precisely focused bursts of eldritch power.

"Not bad Harry, not bad at all."

The ebon-clad sorcerer reached out his hand and simply plucked a small fireball from the air. It hung suspended between grasping fingers, long and slender like the limbs of a spider. The heat it radiated did not seem to bother him in the least as Voldemort brought the seething orb up to his face.

He observed the flickering tongues of fire speculatively for a moment, continuing to negligently deflect away the incoming bolts of magic with his other hand.

"But not good enough."

And then he blew.

A wide column of flames surged forwards gleefully, a roiling torrent of sorcerous fury. The younger wizard let out a yelp of dismay and sprinted to the side. A warding motion flung a hemisphere of rippling silver energy behind him as he went.

"_Fortis Aegis!"_

Enchanted fire skittered harmlessly off the Shield Charm's reflective surface. It fell upon the floor with a thwarted hiss, melting a glassy indentation into granite before being extinguished.

Harry whirled and with a jabbing motion flung an orange-red bolt. The Dark wizard waved and, predictably, it swerved away to strike the ceiling with a fizzing ping. Instead of dissipating however it rebounded, darting down on an intercept trajectory.

Yew spun in a tight swirl producing a small circular shield of electric blue that absorbed the hex before vanishing.

"That's the spirit, Harry!" Voldemort announced. Then with a flick he intoned. "_Bombarda_."

The misty blue sphere of the blasting spell careened towards Harry like an errant bludger.

He weaved to the side and countered with a flurry of conjured knives that sliced through the air at great speed, only to disintegrate when touched by a rust-brown pulse.

The fight continued in much the same vein for perhaps a minute more. In that time the young wizard circled nearly halfway around the chamber and had descended several levels both while dodging and in an attempt to close the distance and give his enemy less time to respond. Though this was of course a double edged sword.

In that time he had noticed something peculiar. Whilst the Dark Lord's reactions were incredibly almost supernaturally swift most of the spells he used were actually fairly basic. Strongly cast to be sure, but not overly difficult or power intensive. In fact the shield charm he'd used to block the Rebounding-Arrow Hex was the most powerful yet. And even then that was a standard part of Auror training, nothing he could not do himself if he were so inclined.

As Ollivander would say: '_curious… very curious….'_

"Getting weaker in your old age, are we Tom?" He taunted, sending a volley of cutting Curses.

Voldemort jabbed imperiously at the overlapping crimson arcs. With a sound like a pane of glass being shattered they exploded into a shower of sparks and intangible dust.

He laughed, sounding genuinely amused.

"Boy, to deal with you I don't _need_ anything but the basics. I merely wished to test what the vaunted 'Chosen One' was capable of." Condescension veritably dripped from his words.

"I confess myself… disappointed."

Harry scowled before hastily hopping down another level. A beam of lurid emerald light whooshed overhead, striking behind him with an audible CRACK of fractured rock.

"You know what your greatest weakness is Voldemort?" He called out challengingly.

Slipping a hand into his pocket he surreptitiously palmed the dozen pointed shards hidden there, taking care not to cut himself. The flash of another Sunburst Charm forced his opponent to shield his eyes momentarily. This disguised the metallic glint as darts dropped soundlessly to the floor before him.

"Very well Potter, I'll humour you." He replied in a sibilant hiss, acting as if he was performing some great act of benevolence. "Just what precisely is my so called greatest weakness?"

"Arrogance. You're so convinced of your own superiority that you refuse to take any threat seriously. It makes you careless and someday it will be your downfall."

Voldemort snorted in derision, drawling his reply through a curled lip.

"It is not arrogance if you can actually back up your words with action, it is confidence. And I most certainly can, just ask Dumbledore."

He smirked coldly then.

"Oh wait, you can't – because I listened to him beg for mercy as I personally tore the old fool limb from limb. A pity."

Harry forced magic through the channel of his wand with sheer stubborn _will_, not daring to let speech or movement betray this chance.

_Expello!_

Tendrils of magic invisibly reached out and touched their targets. Glinting spikes of viciously barbed steel whined through the air.

They passed unimpeded through a gust of wind that by all rights should have scattered them. The Dark Lord's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, betraying his surprise.

A lashing tongue of vermillion flame whipped out in a sinuous arc and struck the missiles from the air. Molten droplets scattered all around. They dropped hissing to the cold ground and lay there glowing a sullen cherry colour. All but two that is.

The first struck Riddle full in the left shoulder, causing a reflexive spasmodic tightening of his grip. He reached up and tore it from his flesh with a grimace.

Through the rip in his robes Harry could see a wound seeping blood that seemed a shade too dark. In the moment it took for the enemy wizard to raise the offending object into view the jagged hole had sealed up as if it had never been there at all.

The spike was perhaps two inches long and superficially resembled a common nail. It was much sleeker however, and possessed two wicked barbs. On the head was inscribed a rune of binding. Slender fingers grasped the glinting shaft firmly. He could feel the magic bound within humming just below the surface. Enchanted then, but for what purpose?

The second spike had impacted him in the navel and buried itself deeply into the softer flesh there. A spidery hand probed at the area only to discover it had already healed over. Blast. That would need surgical removal later then. How damnably inconvenient.

Pulling away he caught a glimpse of his fingers. Lurid red stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.

Utilising Voldemort's momentary distraction Harry spun his wand and weaved in a precise and intricate pattern, murmuring the incantation for a very old spell. The air buzzed around him as he poured power into the enchantment.

Blood.

White strands of luminescent energy erupted from the ground at the sorcerer's feet and coiled around him. Unyielding threads grasped at him, binding him tightly around ankle, wrist and throat. A faint odour of cooking meat rose as Light magic burned into the construct of Dark magic that was Voldemort's body. Yet he hardly noticed.

_His_ blood.

Opponent safely confined for the moment Holly wood dipped and spun as a chain of destructive curses were flung forth.

"_Flammasectum, Ossus Diffringo, Exsanguis, Colliquesco!"_

Potter had made him _bleed_.

A flaming arc, a yellow-streaked indigo jet, a maroon burst and flash of harsh blue-green all sped through the air, a deadly barrage of lethal magic.

Rational thought evaporated as rage consumed him. Snake-like eyes flooded with power, burning a hellish scarlet- no mere trick of light now. The uncharacteristically polite and affable demeanour vanished in an instant as the Dark Lord's magic manifested in roiling mass of coiling shadows. Inky bolts flickered through it, an unnatural storm cloud.

An enraged wordless scream of fury tore from his throat as a vast churning tidal wave of raw magic exploded out of him.

Binding strands of light shattered into nothingness and curses winked out, their energies subsumed and dispersed by the seething immensity of the disruption spell.

Though it had no physical force behind it still it knocked Harry to his knees and drove the breath from his lungs. The room shuddered and tiny showers of dust drifted downwards. The ancient wards protecting the sanctum groaned in protest, flinching like an injured beast.

From the corner of his eye Harry caught a glimpse of the Veil. Cerulean pinpricks of light danced across the arch's surface, its diaphanous contents whipping and boiling in a frenzy of motion.

An eerie screeching sound, much like nails down a chalkboard attracted Harry's attention. His eyes widened at the sight of a burst of dark purple light speeding towards him.

_Merlin's beard!_

He dove desperately to the side, screaming out the first shield charm that came to mind.

"_Absolvo Ancile!"_

A semi-transparent white dome appeared around him just in time. The Devastation Curse slammed down, releasing a concussive blast and a wave of intense heat. Were it not for that last minute shield those would undoubtedly have killed him despite having gotten far enough away to have avoided a direct impact. If he hadn't moved a curse that powerful would have torn through his shield like tissue paper.

The shield flared brightly as it resisted the hail of shrapnel and searing heat. The kinetic force of the shockwave flung him spinning, shield and all, to land awkwardly a dozen feet away with a pained grunt. Were it not for the insulating effect of the charm he'd likely have broken an arm at the least. Instead he merely had a rather impressive collection of bruises to look forward to.

He spared an apprehensive glance at the molten crater filled with coils of luminous vapour that he'd narrowly escaped becoming part of.

And nearly missed the wagon sized ball of white hot flame that swirled in an almost liquid like fashion. With no time to dodge and uncertain how well his shield would hold up against the oncoming sphere of burning death he raised his wand, gripping at his wrist supportively with his free hand in preparation, and cast.

"_Aguamenti Flumen!"_

A tremendous burst of water erupted from his wand, near enough to constitute a small river, and intercepted the fireball at an angle. He felt his reserves of magic drop substantially with that massive conjuration, the force of the water almost causing his wrist to buckle despite his precautions.

The elements collided with a seething hiss, producing a billowing cloud of scaling steam. Somehow, impossibly, the fire continued to burn even when fully submerged and continued its forward movement. Though unquenched it was deflected aside, splattering to earth and flinging incandescent globules all around. It ran downwards flowing like syrup, the streams of white fire eating away at granite.

Hastily Harry cast the strongest shield he knew, a large transparent barrier in the form of a stylised medieval shield. It shone electric blue, the Gryffindor lion emblem roaring its defiance.

"_Potensascutum!"_

It immediately darted to block a green streaked urine yellow beam which rebounded with sound that greatly resembled the ringing of a gong.

It flitted protectively around independent of its master's will as he funnelled his strength into maintaining it. In the space of a single second it blocked no less than four further curses. A blue pulse sprung back and a black arc skittered off to the side, carving a foot deep slice into the rocky floor. They were followed by a dirty brown wave that slid down and away, then a dark cored bloody orb.

The air rung with the reverberating aftershock as the powerful curses were repelled, the telltale icy slickness of Dark magic's taint polluting Harry's surroundings. He noted with concern that his shield now sported fine cracks spreading outwards from its centre.

A wide pink beam slammed him, sending ripples across its surface. The shield flared brightly as the spell's heart pulsed red. Then it shattered into luminescent shards which exploded outwards, partially deflecting a dark jet.

Harry staggered as fatigue washed over him, missing the whitish dart that sank into his chest. A startled scream of pain was wrenched from his lips as his wand abruptly detonated in his grip.

Splinters of holly drove into and through his hand as it spasmed in agony. A fine spray of red droplets splattered all around him. He clutched the maimed appendage to his chest heedless of the hot streams of blood running down his arm to drip from his elbow.

Awkwardly he drew the sword at his waist left-handed; clumsily he batted a Flaying Curse away with the flat of the blade. A dark blue jet threaded with yellow zipped in under his guard too quickly for him to react. It impacted his elbow and produced a pained yelp and a sickening snap as his forearm broke. The shining goblin-silver dropped from nerveless fingers with a clatter as the arm bent gruesomely.

A grey blur slammed pounded into his stomach and drove him to his knees. He dropped retching, the pain of his injuries making him shudder. An invisible grip, a giant's hand, seized him roughly and yanked him through the air over the Dark Lord's head then sharply downwards to land crumpled at his feet.

Voldemort regarded him neutrally, the seething fury of moments before locked tightly away behind steel-hard Occlumency barriers. His crimson eyes betrayed a glimmer of malicious glee at the bloodied and beaten state of his opponent.

"How does it feel, Harry; knowing that you are about to die?" The Dark Lord asked silkily.

"How does it feel to know that all your struggles, all your sacrifices were for naught? To know that everyone you love will suffer and die because you are a _failure_?" The poisonous words were whispered in velvet soft tones.

"It is polite to answer your betters when they ask you a question, Potter." He hissed. "But perhaps you need another lesson in manners. Very well, I shall oblige you. … _Crucio_."

Hot razorblades cut into every nerve ending, his very blood burning like acid under the onset of the Cruciatus. Harry screamed and thrashed. He did not know long it lasted, likely no more than a minute, but it felt like hours. Voldemort laughed icily then with a casual wave ended the spell.

Harry trembled as the aftershocks of the curse stimulated nerves burnt raw. Nevertheless he forced out rebellious words through bruised and swollen lips.

"_Screw… you… Tom."_

"Harry, Harry, Harry. Defiant even until the end I see. You may be a fool but I must confess, I admire your courage." He shook his head as if admonishing a recalcitrant child, bald pate gleaming in the dim lighting. A tiny beginning of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"But it _is_ the end now. Goodbye Harry Potter. _Avada_-"

For Harry time seemed to freeze in a single crystallised instant, a bead of familiar green light blooming upon the tip of the Dark Lord's pale wand.

His magic was all but exhausted; he had full body bruising, a shattered left arm and several cracked ribs. His right hand was little more than a mass of shredded and perforated flesh, and he had most likely suffered some degree of nerve damage from that Cruciatus. There was no doubt in his mind that he was about to die.

He felt a small thrill of surprise at the realisation that this did not bother him. Oh he didn't _want_ to die of course, but found that the concept did not scare him. But damn it if he was going to die then he was going to make damn sure he was taking that snake faced bastard with him.

He drew deeply on the last flickering embers of his magic that remained, gathered them into a burning orb at his core and employed every ounce of his Occlumency skills to force a diamond hard purpose upon it. Magic hummed beneath his skin and he threw it out with a mental cry.

_Accio!_

"… _Kedavr_- ugh."

Voldemort halted mid-incantation, his eyes bulging in shock as with a wet _shlick_ Gryffindor's sword plunged into his back. A gasp escaped, the exhalation bringing with it a fine spray of blood which speckled his lips. Slender digits touched disbelievingly at the foot of bright metal protruding from the right side of his chest.

Harry began to laugh hoarsely and the look of shock on Voldemort's face gave way to profound irritation. Hairless brows drew together in a scowl as his gaze darkened.

"Potter," He said flatly, his breathe a wheeze. "You are without a shadow of a doubt the most acutely aggravating individual that I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Tell me, did you honestly think you could kill me a _sword_ of all things?"

With that he slashed his wand and the blade simply dissolved, melting into silver mist. It ran downwards and evaporated away. A gout of blood poured freely for a moment before the same unnatural regeneration kicked in sealing the wound.

"Not with a sword, no." Harry chuckled scratchily. "But basilisk venom? I'm willing to bet that's something even you can't recover from."

"Basilisk?" Voldemort looked startled at that, and then realisation dawned. "Of course, the Chamber – and the blade was goblin-silver. Clever." He admitted grudgingly.

A full body tremor ran through him and he glanced at his exposed forearm assessingly. The veins were an unwholesome black, clear evidence of the poison's spread. Even as he watched mottled bruising bloomed beneath his skin.

"Aggravating indeed." He muttered. "It will be irritating having to go through all those rituals again to prepare another suitable vessel. But know this: your trickery may have deprived me of this body Harry, yet it is but a momentary inconvenience. I told you once before that I had gone further than any other down the path that leads to immortality. Clearly you were not paying attention."

A twitch sent his wand clattering to the floor. He frowned.

"It seems this body's usefulness has reached its end then."

The elder wizard closed his eyes momentarily in concentration. Power rose in a thick shroud around him, tinged with the oily slickness of Dark magic, an almost tangible presence. It built up to a crescendo then, abruptly, just vanished. Confusion and a hint of panic flitted across the Dark Lord's serpentine features as he staggered. A fresh round of hoarse laughter attracted his attention.

"And what, pray tell, is so amusing Potter?"

"_And either must die at the hand of the other._ You're dead, Tom. You just haven't realised it yet."

"Speak sense."

"I know all about your Horcruxes, all six of them."

"How do you … the diary. No matter, the others are safe and hidden, I have made certain of that. It would be physically impossible for you to have found them, let alone destroyed them."

"True." Harry admitted. "Though not for lack of trying. That doesn't mean I couldn't work _around_ them however."

A spark of panic lit in Voldemort's scarlet eyes.

"What did you do to me Potter?! Tell me!"

"Horcruxes work by forming a safety net of sorts. They anchor the core of your being so that should your body be too damaged to support it, it does not get immediately drawn into the beyond. This allows you to wander freely as a wraith until you can arrange for a new vessel. What I did was bind you to your current one."

BIND. The word reverberated around the Dark Lord's mind. The image of a faintly glowing rune appeared n his mind's eye. He collapsed, clutching at his stomach.

"When that twisted body dies… so do you. And your precious little anchors? Well those go down with the ship, so to speak."

Harry bared his teeth in a vicious grin, clearly relishing the unique opportunity to gloat.

"I told you that your arrogance would be your downfall." He added smugly.

Voldemort's eyes blazed with fury as they locked gazes once more. His magic responded to its dying master's command, lashing out in a burst of raw force that effortlessly launched Harry through the air. Directly towards the archway.

_Oh fuck._

Desperately he reached for the emergency portkey at his belt, adrenaline allowing him to briefly ignore the shrieking agony of his shattered arm bone. Fingers wrapped around the nondescript object.

_Dear Merlin please let this work._

Ordinarily no portkey would stand a snowball's chance in Hell of working this deep within the Department of Mysteries thanks to the uncounted layers of wards; but Voldemort's little temper tantrum earlier on had clearly damaged them, and severely at that. Though they still stood the enchantment was, for lack of a better term, fractured. Hopefully just enough to allow for an unauthorised portkey activation.

He snapped the chain.

The familiar hook-in-the-navel sensation began to form just as a deathly chill brushed at his spine. And then Harry's world was torn asunder.

Lord Voldemort watched with vindictive pleasure as his most hated adversary soared between crumbling pillars and vanished in a scintillating rainbow flare.

He slumped forwards, his strength expended. A pallid cheek pressed into cool stone. A susurration of sound emerged from cracked lips, less even than a murmur.

"_Damn you… Harry Potter…."_

With that the unholy light fled from slitted reptilian eyes, his chest at last stilling.

And so Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self proclaimed Lord Voldemort and one of the greatest sorcerers of the age breathed his last. He died as he had lived all his life, _alone_.

And in that empty, scarred and corpse-strewn room the Veil whispered ever on, ever on.

* * *

_A/N: And that's chapter one.  
_

_Before some bright spark feels the need to point out the obvious, yes I am indeed aware that despite being a labelled a crossover there's no sign of the Twilightverse yet. Have patience, I assure you that it will start next chapter. I just had to actually get him there first. My original outline had the chapter end just after a vampire encounter but when I got around to actually writing it down this seemed to be a more natural point of transition. _

_The purpose of this chapter was to introduce the protagonist, showcase a little of what he's capable of, and conclude the annoying business of the Prophecy so we can move on. Not to mention devise some at least semi-believable means of transporting Harry where I needed him to go. This was the eventual result._

_Most questions about the backstory will be answered in flashback form over the next few chapters. Though I'll endeavour to keep them brief and to the point since I personally find long and rambling flashbacks rather irritating._

_Why did I decide to write a Twilight crossover? Because I need a considerable amount of practise before attempting my HP/DA:O epic and Twilight is something I can honestly say I don't give a damn about. Sounds counterintuitive I know but there is method to the madness. It frees me to write whatever the hell I like without worrying too much about screwing it up like I would if it were something I was properly a fan of. _

_Besides, my dislike of the books and several of their characters aside I can't deny the setting has a fair bit of potential. With some rather powerful vampires possessing all sorts of psychic powers, shapeshifters who can turn into giant telepathic wolves and mentions of uncontrollably rabid ACTUAL werewolves what's not to like?_

_Though I still maintain the sparkling is a silly idea._


	2. Up the Airy Mountain

Envenomed

Chapter Two: Up The Airy Mountain

The chill power of death breathed down the back of Harry's neck. The telltale hook of a Portkey latched into his navel and pulled. The world blurred, yet the vortex of magic did not move him. Instead it was opposed by an invisible suction from the Veil tugging at his back. Weak at first it rapidly grew in intensity.

For an instant Harry was caught suspended between the two opposing forces. His battered body cried out silently in protest. Then, with a brilliant rainbow flare, reality tore asunder.

Harry flew apart, his body dispersing into a cloud of molecules. Somehow – incredibly, he remained conscious and aware. Had he the presence of mind, he would have wondered how even being alive was possible. Harry was twisted and contorted in mind, body and soul as the vortex of magic held him in its implacable grip.

One moment he was a diffuse cloud of particles, the next he was slammed back together, stretching into impossible shapes. Without warning he was compressed down to a single point then sucked through what felt like a tiny tube. Dear Merlin, this made apparition actually seem fun by comparison.

Throughout it all there was a strange, almost indefinable feeling. It wasn't quite possible to put it into words, yet if Harry were forced to make the attempt he would liken it akin to falling.

He had no idea how long he was stuck there, wherever _there_ was. It could have been moments or an eternity, it was hard to say. Time in this Between place was somewhat malleable. And of course the havoc that was being played with his senses made them rather unreliable regardless.

Sometimes his every nerve was stimulated to the point of pain, in others there was no sensation at all, nothing but an endless void.

He could not trust his eyes either, such as they were. Strange scenes flickered past his vision.

A kaleidoscope of colours, some that defied any attempt of description. A featureless grey expanse. Scenes so gloriously beautiful that were he capable he would no doubt have been driven to tears. Others so wretched and foul that even the barest glimpse felt like an oily fetid stain upon his soul. Between each one he felt something give way, something ephemeral and gauzy sweeping past him.

There was no warning. Before he knew it his journey was over. Every cell in his body screamed as they were unceremoniously shoved back together into position one last time. He opened his eyes. White. Infinite, immeasurable, painfully pure WHITE. He opened his mouth to scream and found there was no air.

A chiming note rang out as he struck another barrier. Instead of brushing past, this time it shattered into iridescent shards as he smashed through it. Harry's breath was driven from him in an explosive exhalation as he fell at last upon blessedly solid ground.

Harry coughed weakly, his breath scattering old leaves. He wheezed tiredly, blinking back the water from his eyes.

"Oh God. Remind me _never_ to try that again. Now, where by Morgana's saggy tits am I? "

He wondered to himself, struggling valiantly to keep his eyes open.

Slowly and painfully he raised his sweaty brow from where it rested upon oh so very comfortable soil to take in his new surroundings. He blinked in befuddlement.

_Well… that was unexpected. Still, could be far worse._

He began to laugh, low hoarse chuckles that shook his frame. He stopped abruptly with a hiss of discomfort.

"Ow, damn it. Not dead then – I hurt far too much to be dead. Well there's a bonus." He shook his head.

"And now I'm talking to myself. Well aren't I just a picture of mental stability?" He trailed off into unintelligible grumbling.

With a grunt of effort he rolled onto his side and began the laborious process of standing up. It was harder than one might think with a broken arm and the other hand mincemeat. It took far longer than he cared to admit but eventually Harry reached his feet.

Swaying slightly he stood, torn robes swaying, and surveyed the surrounding foliage with an appreciative glance.

An agonised hiss escaped as he was abruptly reminded of his pulverised hand. He glanced over his other arm with a critical expression. It looked to be a fairly clean break fortunately, fairly easy to mend with the right charm. Lucky. This next bit though, now that was going to hurt.

Taking a deep breath Harry braced himself and reached for the holster at his waist. He pulled free the backup wand, gritting his teeth at the throb of protest in his forearm. Bringing it up to his face he gripped the handle in his mouth and tapped his broken arm.

_Brackium Emendo._

The limb snapped into position with a sickening squelch. Rolling his wrist experimentally Harry nodded in satisfaction before transferring the wand back to his left hand. It was still a little tender but would heal up just fine on its own in a few weeks, provided he didn't stress it too badly.

His other hand was rather beyond his current skill level however. The only solution he could think of for now was to slap a Stasis Charm over it then seek experienced help. Something he did not currently have enough magic left to do. Ah well, nothing for it then.

Harry reached into his belt pouch and withdrew three small crystal vials. Pulling the cork free with his teeth he drained them in quick succession, grimacing at the taste. The Rejuvenation Draughts did their job quickly, washing away his tiredness, banishing the lingering effects of the Cruciatus and providing a small but significant boost to his reserves.

The young wizard brought his wand to bear again, focusing on confining the charm to his lacerated hand. A shimmer of blue light settled over it and it went numb as he spoke the words to the spell.

"_Tardus Vita."_

Newly alert he looked around. Harry stood in the heart of a clearing, fairly large yet not excessively so. It was predominantly grassy though strewn with leaves lost in a recent storm.

All around were trees, old and gnarled with mossy lichen-encrusted trunks and vibrant bushy canopies. This place felt ancient, all but untouched by the greedy hands of men, intolerant of their trespasses.

The forest teemed with life. Small creatures rustled through the undergrowth and birdsong echoed all around. The very air sang with wild magic.

The sun shone weakly down through intermittent gaps in the fluffy grey-white cloud cover. There was a scent of rain in the air and low-lying tendrils of mist crept through the trees to fill the air with their moisture.

Ahead in the distance rocky green mountains loomed, crouching like earthen titans on the horizon.

Harry took a deep cleansing breath of the moisture laden air, tasting the aftermath of rainfall and enjoying its crisp clean scent.

"It's a damn sight more welcoming than the Forbidden Forest at any rate. Though that does beg the question… just where the hell am I?"

The Portkey had been created with Headquarters as its destination point. This was very obviously _not_ Grimmauld Place. Apparently the interaction between Veil and Portkey had thrown the destination way off course. Since he was still alive however he considered himself fortunate that it had even worked at all.

A soft moisture laden breeze ruffled his hair and roused him from his reverie. A tingle of unease ran over him as he came to the sudden realisation that the birds had fallen silent.

_Too quiet._ He thought, then twitched in annoyance at the involuntarily clichéd notion. Making mention of such things only served to tempt fate after all.

Emerald eyes darted suspiciously around, raking keenly through the shadows among the boughs. They fixed on a figure slipping soundlessly into view. As the form came out into the open Harry's breath caught in his throat. It was a woman - slim, pale and almost indescribably lovely.

Her figure was slim and toned, lithely muscled and with feminine curves in all the right places; the body of a swimmer of a gymnast. He was only peripherally aware of what she was wearing – boots, jeans, green jumper. Shimmering waves of chestnut tresses flowed over her shoulders to be stirred by the breeze.

She took a step forwards into the clearing, a sinuous gliding motion that drew the eyes to her shapely thighs. The muted sunlight brushed over the exposed skin of her hands and face, making it shine as if sprinkled by powdered diamonds.

… _What? Blood loss is making my eyes go wonky now then, eh? Bloody marvellous._

He mentally shook himself and looked again, expecting the strange optical illusion to have dispersed.

It hadn't.

When the light hit her skin it refracted, glittering like precious jewels. Dimly he felt his thoughts clouding and slowing down once again.

_Beautiful. Even more so than Fleur._

Fleur. Fleur who's beauty was near legendary. Fleur the part-veela. Fleur who possessed an aura of supernatural attraction that could enthral men against their will. And this woman was _more_ attractive?

Suppressing the surge of rising panic Harry hurriedly raised his Occlumency barriers, inwardly cursing himself for letting them drop in his distraction.

Thoughts sharpening Harry became aware of several important details that had escaped his notice before. The nimble gliding walk was in reality more of a predatory stalk; the inviting smile a cruel and hungry smirk.

Her eyes though, they were what confirmed beyond any shadow of doubt that whatever this woman was, she was not human.

Red.

Her irises were livid splashes the shade of freshly spilled blood.

Harry flinched reflexively, eyes that colour brought back unpleasant memories. For one incongruous instant the woman was replaced in his mind's eye with a hooded figure in dark robes.

His still aching arm darted to his waist, drawing again his backup wand in a smooth and practised motion, the first syllable of a curse lighting on his lips. Too slow.

The woman had watched him amused as he shook off the enthrallment. Her demeanour was that of a cat observing a mouse just before it pounced. An all too apt metaphor as Harry soon discovered.

Even as he drew his wand she _moved_. In the time it took to blink the woman blurred, covered nearly twenty metres and struck at his chest in an open palmed strike.

His breath exploded from him, tender ribs conveying their protest of such abuse with shrill stabs of pain. The impact felt like being hit by a truck, and indeed it had much the same effect. Harry was sent flying back through the air to strike the unyielding bark of a tree with a startled yelp.

Harry's wand dropped from his stunned and lax grip to fall at his feet. Before gravity had time to exert its hold on him and cause him to follow suit the woman – no, the _monster_ – moved again. She was inhumanly swift, a near invisible blur of colours.

Slender fingers, deceptively fragile in appearance grasped at the front of his robes and pressed him against the tree. His feet dangled in the sir as the creature held him effortlessly aloft.

She inhaled deeply and her eyelids fluttered. Crimson eyes darkened perceptively. Blackness swept outwards from the pupils, turning them into onyx pits that reflected the hunger within.

The woman's other hand darted up to his face. Glinting nails caught the light as the forefinger flashed forwards and cut a line across Harry's cheek.

Alabaster flesh, cold and hard traced over the oozing wound, collecting their prize. In an oddly delicate gesture she brought it up to her mouth, careful not to spill a single drop.

Rosy lips closed over the bloody appendage. Lashes fluttered closed in pleasure as an ecstatic moan was issued from slightly parted lips. A tiny darting tongue flicked over the finger cleaning up every morsel. It was an almost erotic sight, one that caused an embarrassing tightening in Harry's trousers.

_Not the time damn it. Escape now, fantasise later._

He was injured, physically far weaker and with his current reserves being as they were in no position to be flinging around wandless magic. That left his wand, which despite being a mere metre away might as well have been a mile. Brilliant.

Eyes like bottomless pits gazed into his very soul.

"Mmmm… delicious." She purred. Her voice matched her looks, lilting and musical – almost as if she was about to break out into song. He rather doubted that somehow.

"I dare say yours is the most delectable blood that I have ever tasted." She mused quietly.

"I am honestly surprised no other vampire has snatched you up before now."

Vampire? That was what she was then? Harry reeled internally, it just didn't make sense. This woman was nothing like the pasty wretches he was familiar with. Oh, they were strong and fast certainly, but not to this extent. Vampires were never normally that good looking either. Pale, gaunt featured and fanged, they didn't exactly blend in well.

The only reason the various Ministries hadn't ever bothered to simply exterminate them was due to their largely law abiding natures and the fact they virtually never tried their luck at wizard hunting. This was admittedly due in large part to their overwhelming fear of wizardkind's collective favourite toy: FIRE. Vampire had been known to run screaming from ickle firsties wielding the awesome cosmic power of an Incendio Charm. That mental image never failed to produce a smile.

If this woman was indeed a vampire (and given her apparent blood fetish he was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt) then she was of a kind entirely unknown to the Wizarding World. A disquieting notion. With an ominous sinking feeling Harry wondered just how far off course that Portkey had sent him.

"Still, one's luck must inevitably run out at some point. It is fortunate for me that yours did so now."

Sculpted lips parted in a hungry grin exposing a perfect white smile. Harry half expected to see the customary fangs, but apparently that was another difference to the vampires he was familiar with.

They were identical to human teeth, no different beyond their unusually perfect nature. The sort of smile celebrities paid exorbitant sums to obtain for themselves. Saliva gleamed on them.

… _On second thought they do look rather worryingly sharp._

The thought had barely skittered its way across his consciousness when she lunged with a feral growl. The skin of his neck parted around razor sharp incisors without resistance. The icy stab of pain as teeth bit into tender flesh drew a gasp.

Teeth withdrew with a soft SNIK and plump lips enclosed the gushing wound forming a seal. Hot salty nectar flooded the vampire girl's mouth, provoking another satisfied moan as she gulped greedily at the precious fluid.

She lowered the wizard to the earth and enfolded him in her steely embrace. Absorbed fully in her feeding she continued to slurp noisily, unaware of his left arm creeping stealthily towards his fallen wand.

A triumphant smile lit his haggard features as his hand at last closed around the grip of the wooden rod. He brought it round to point directly at the vampire's back. He drew upon his magic and marshalled his will, very much aware of his rapidly weakening state.

"_Inflammara!"_ He shouted the words of a spell.

A gout of seething yellow-white fire burst out and poured over the creature's back. With a high pitched shriek of outrage she disengaged and leapt backwards.

She flew through the air in a graceful arc and hit the ground rolling in an effort to smother the flames licking at her alabaster skin. Harry forced himself shakily to his feet. Warmth ran down from his throat and over his chest, staining his robes an even deeper red.

Waving his wand over the neck wound he muttered out the words for a Clotting Charm.

"_Concrescat Sanguinem."_

The bite sealed over in an instant. The pain subsided to a muted throbbing and a dull burning sensation. That was actually rather concerning. The residual ache was to be expected - the spell merely sealed a wound, it did not fully heal it. The burning however was indicative of something rather sinister in the self-proclaimed vampire's saliva.

Harry shoved that train of thought aside for later when he _wasn't_ in imminent danger of being eaten and redirected his attention.

The inhumanly beautiful woman had at last succeeded in outing out the tenacious sorcerous fire through the simple expedient of rolling on the moist earth.

She rose slowly into a crouch, hair distinctly ruffled and littered with stray leaves. Her top was largely reduced to blackened rags exposing an expanse of toned and glittering iridescent flesh. An ugly livid burn mark twisted across her back and curved around her left side over her ribs.

Teeth gleamed in a bloody snarl, elegant brows drawn together in a fierce frown, eyes literal black pits of rage. Her hands curled claw-like and twitched with eagerness to wring his neck.

Yet something held her at bay. Fear perhaps? The fire had surprised and obviously hurt her, something he imagined she was far from accustomed to. Particularly from her food. Still, he doubted it would hold her back for long. Getting the hell away was definitely a priority.

If the way she _blurred_ when attacking was any indication the battered wizard didn't stand any chance of outrunning her. It would be utterly futile to try even if he were at one hundred percent. No brooms or Portkeys were available and Harry sincerely doubted anyone had bothered to install a Floo connection the middle of a forest. Which left… apparition.

_Jubilation._

He had absolutely no sodding idea where he was and severely stretched magic reserves. That ruled out simply jumping right back to Hogwarts or Headquarters. In fact in his current state Harry doubted he'd manage more than about ten miles. That was a generous estimate.

Line of sight then, which rather drastically limited his options. Emerald eyes fixed upon the not so distant rocky peaks hovering over the treetops.

Plan decided and not sparing a moment to procrastinate over his choices the young wizard focused his considerable willpower. Using the additional support of the wand fixed his desired destination firmly in mind.

He spun in a tight circle, magic rising around him in a curtain of energy as he did so. Not a moment too soon. As he felt the unpleasantly familiar rubber tube pull him in there was a jerk on the trailing end of his robes. Harry vanished from the forest clearing with a CRACK of displaced air. The vampiress screamed in thwarted rage.

He reappeared several miles away without fanfare, a circle of disturbed dust rising around him. Harry staggered, flailing for balance in the rocky terrain as weakness washed over him.

Shit. He was going to pass out soon, he just knew it. (He studiously avoided even thinking the word 'fainting'.) He needed shelter immediately.

The wind carried with it the distant echoes of an enraged shriek. His lips quirked in amusement - music to his ears.

Harry's gaze raked probingly over the adjacent craggy cliff face. A surge of incredulous joy bubbled up bearing with it a mirthful chuckle. Less than five metres away was an opening in the rock. Perfect. Finally it seemed his improbable luck was actually working in his favour. Thank heaven for small miracles.

He hobbled over to the cave's mouth and peered into the shadows apprehensively. Empty. Excellent, at least bears were not a concern then. Disturbing grumpy tenants was not on his to-do list.

He proceeded inside hurriedly. The cave was small as such things go. The entrance was barely wider than he but widened out into a small roughly circular chamber three metres in, the ceiling remaining at a fairly even eight feet throughout.

Harry turned and pointed his wand at the entrance, waving it in a complex looping swirl motion. He uttered an incantation.

"_Entropus."_

A pulse of energy ballooned outwards and formed a film over the opening. A shimmering translucent shroud of blue-green magic hung there menacingly, humming with restrained power.

The wizard sagged, drained to the barest dregs of his strength. Blackness tickled at the fringe of his vision and his head swam dizzily. He swayed then sat down heavily, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

He could scarcely keep his eyes open yet the steadily intensifying dull fire at his neck would not allow him any rest. One last spell.

He pointed the focus at the scabbed over bite mark, wooden shaft shaking in unsteady hands. He marshalled the last sparks of his magic and forced them out.

"_Effetae Dolor."_

A stream of white mist streamed out to envelope his throat, swallowing the pain.

Harry fell into exhausted slumber, the wand rolling away with a muted clatter. A small sigh escaped as the welcoming darkness embraced him.

* * *

He awoke to burning.

Or at least that was what it felt like. For one single panicked instant Harry honestly thought that someone had circumvented his ward and then for some reason decided to fire boiling oil over him.

He flailed wildly for a moment, trying futilely to fight off an attacker that existed only in the realms of his imagination. Blinking tears from his eyes he slowly came to his senses and realised the truth.

The Numbing Charm had work off. Or perhaps it had been overwhelmed and broken. It was after all not the most powerful of spells, there were definite limits to what it could accomplish. Harry suspected this qualified.

Now, Harry was no wimp when it came to injuries. The fact that he could take snapped bones with nothing more than a wince when others would be crying like a little girl should be proof enough of that. His pain tolerance was unusually high; he barely even registered Stinging Hexes, but this? This hurt, this hurt a lot; a solid nine on the Pain-o-meter.

Just below the Cruciatus in fact. Not that it hurt any _less_, mind. It was merely that while the Unforgivable was a full-body torment this one was confined. For now at least.

The pain was actually of a comparable level, though subtly different in nature. The Cruciatus was a thousand white-hot blades slicing through flesh and into nerves. This? This was _fire_. The very essence of the inferno condensed and distilled into this internal conflagration.

Red heat seared into him from the bite mark, blazing tendrils spreading outwards through his veins like fiery tentacles. Even now with laboured breath, each beat of his heart its reach grew.

He reached for his neck with trembling fingers, scared what they might encounter. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to find but his active imagination conjured up gruesome images of torn and melting flesh spilling forth too-hot blood that bubbled as if some toxic chemical.

Smooth skin. Scabs. His skin was hot, feverishly so in fact, yet still Harry could not suppress the surge of relief.

Crawling on hands and knees (well, _hand_) he searched the shadows for his fallen wand.

As the shaft of ebony wood settled into the palm of his hand it released a tiny pulse in welcome. A quick internal glimpse to check his reserves scattered the momentary good mood. There was a trickle more than earlier, enough for a minor charm or two but not nearly sufficient to do anything really useful. Regretfully he replaced the wand in its holster.

Spells were out of the question then. All right, _think_ - there must be something….

A quick inventory of his potions supplies revealed just what he expected. A handful of Pepperups, assorted antidotes and a Blood-replenisher; nothing particularly useful then. Sweat beaded on his brow, despair threatening.

Occlumency!

The thought struck like a bolt out of the blue. The Mind Art involved organising the psyche, and what was pain but a thing of the mind? He had read that true masters of the Art had such control over themselves that they could make themselves immune to even the Cruciatus, albeit in short bursts. Moreover they could walk out into a desert and not sweat, or out into a blizzard and not let the cold touch them.

Of course not acknowledging heat, cold or pain did not mean that they did not exist. As with all power it came with a price. But its usefulness could not be denied.

Using every ounce of his will Harry drew his Occlumency shields inwards, tightening and strengthening them as he went until a sphere of gleaming adamantine enclosed his consciousness, as close to impenetrable as he could make it. Focusing on the messages his screaming nerves were sending he swiftly bundled up the burning sensations into a tight ball then shoved it firmly to the very back of his mind.

Immediately the pain diminished. It was still there of course, no amount of wishful thinking could simply vanish it, but it suddenly seemed… unimportant, forgettable. It faded into the background, a pale and muted shadow.

Lying back on the cool stone, Harry felt strangely relaxed. It should have been uncomfortably hard, yet he could not quite bring himself to care overmuch.

Eyelids slid slowly closed as he allowed himself to drift. Time passed.

* * *

He woke again when the venom reached his heart. A jolt of agony returned him to consciousness as a bonfire lit in his chest.

Occlumency barriers shattered under the strain and the pain surged outwards. Roaring like an enraged dragon it exploded forth from the depths to consume him. His whole world became enveloped in endless flames.

Harry writhed and convulsed helplessly, mouth open in a silent scream as his eyes rolled back in his head. He could feel it, a strange treacle-thick fluid creeping through his veins, burning wherever it touched and seeping into the surrounding flesh. Napalm pushed a little further with each successive beat of his labouring heart.

Occlumency was useless now, it required supreme concentration and at the moment he could barely strain a thought together let alone muster the coherence to pull a defence together.

And to think he'd once thought that the Cruciatus dealt the worst pain imaginable. Hah, what a joke. At least the Torture Curse left one avenue of escape. Not a terribly appealing one admittedly, but at least it existed as a last resort to escape the torment.

_Yes_. Harry thought - the idea a fractured and halting thing._ Madness is starting to look bloody tempting from here._

It wasn't so much the pain itself that was the worst part of it, horrific though it was. The worst was that there _was_ no escape. He couldn't pass out and let it pass unaware. The vampire's venom kept him awake, coherent and sane. To an outsider that might seem like a blessing of sorts. It wasn't. It really, _really_ wasn't.

Harry had no idea how long it lasted, though it felt like an eternity. Endless, unceasing anguish as the poisonous devouring inferno surged through his body. Sparks seemed into every single cell until each and every one became a separate glowing ember.

As each cell flared in succession he could feel them somehow changing, being broken down and remade into something new, something different. He now knew what it was to be a length of steel as it was melted and hammered into shape. The analogy seemed darkly ironic. For what was he to his fellow wizards but a weapon to be wielded against the Dark Lord?

Eventually after an eon lost in the sea of fire he noted something with absent alarm. While his mind remained clear there was an odd… _blurring_ of sorts. It was hard to put into words but his memories while not disappearing were starting to feel faded. Washed out. Grey. Unimportant. His sense of identity began to slip away as the _now_ took over in precedence.

_No._

He was Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily. His mental footing steadied. He had magic, he was a wizard. Firmer still. His best friends were Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ron. The encircling fire closed in, seeking to sear away their relevance.

_No. _

The memories mattered, _he_ mattered. His name was Harry Potter and he would _not_ forget.

He called up the shimmering river of memory strands to the forefront of his mind's eye. He braced himself then dove in headlong, immersing himself in the flood of remembrance.

Scenes flitted past, moments of his short life skipping by in an instant yet still visible in brilliant technicolour.

"_Harry – yer a wizard … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … You could be great you know, it's all here in your head … It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live … There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it …._

"_There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make the most terrible things happen … Voldemort is my past, present and future ... It is our choices, Harry, that show what we really are…._

"…_among the foulest things that walk this earth … Stand aside you silly girl… GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS… Expecto Patronum! …._

"_Kill the spare… Bone of the father… Flesh of the servant… B-blood of the enemy… I can touch him now… I said, BOW… Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine! ... Accio!"_

* * *

_Harry lay in his bed in the hospital wing deep in contemplation, his eyes dull and distant. His face was pale and haggard, giving him an appearance of age beyond his years._

'_It's all my fault. '_

_Harry thought to himself – caught in the grip of guilt, despair and self-loathing. He brooded on his perceived failures, mood growing grimmer with each passing moment._

_It was his fault Cedric had died; if he had just taken the Cup then Cedric would still be alive right now. In fact this entire mess could be traced back to last year, if he hadn't bothered to spare the rat none of this would have ever happened._

_He had made mistakes; mistakes that had gotten people killed and then was too weak to do anything about it. It was only thanks to pure luck that he even made it back alive. Well, luck and his opponent's towering ego. Voldemort had been toying with him, yet even so were it not for the effect of the brother wands Harry would now be dead._

_Harry privately resigned himself to his long sought after dream of a normal life remaining out of reach. It was clear now that whatever Harry's own feeling on the matter Voldemort would never be content to leave him alone. Why though? He had a suspicion that Dumbledore knew, but the old man was awfully fond of keeping his cards close to his chest. _

_Regardless, the Dark Lord would inevitably come after him again and next time… next time he would need to be ready. The time for relaxation - for Quidditch, chess games and half-assed essays was over. He needed to knuckle down and learn as much magic as he possibly could._

_New course decided, Harry nodded sharply to himself in determination. Unconsciously his hunched shoulders straightened, his chin firming._

'_I will be ready.'_

* * *

The sun set, rose and set again, the sun arcing overhead whilst Harry remained oblivious to all but the fires consuming his flesh. Eventually, nearly five days after he entered the small cave, the flames began at last to dim.

A small cave hid amongst the rocky slopes of a mountain and in that shadowed alcove the figure of a young man lay silent. He was youthful, eighteen at most, with untameable charcoal-black hair and a pair of rather battered spectacles attached to his nose. He was dressed in strange garments, robes of red which had clearly seen better days.

He lay disconcertingly still; even his chest betrayed no sign of life. Behind cracked lenses his eyelids flickered and opened. He drew a deep, gulping breath as he abruptly returned to wakefulness.

Crimson eyes gleamed in the dark.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter did not want to be written, it fought me every step of the way. The next chapter SHOULD be out a bit more swiftly hopefully._

_First off the dreaded Writer's Block attacked one paragraph in and was I stuck for over a week. It wasn't that I was out of ideas; no I knew exactly what I wanted to happen and had every scene down in bullet point form. But when it came to actually writing… the words just wouldn't flow. GAH! Infuriating, let me tell you._

_Another problem was the timeline of the books, I honestly had no idea that entire series spans just under two years. For some reason I had it in my head as three and so trying to work out where Harry's appearance was going to fit in there was a real pain._

_As a result this chapter went through several different incarnations. Version one involved the newborn army attack. Version two I just went 'screw it' and sent him back to the 40s. Version three had Victoria recruiting him into her army (which I then realised might end up too similar to another fic I subsequently stumbled across). I also toyed with an idea that involved James' coven before deciding it would likely change canon too much. (The events of the books will for the most part still go on in the background; we just won't see much of it since the focus is on Harry.) _

_Ultimately we got this: random nomad vamp and some intentionally non-specific period of time before book 1. I just hope it works. The nomad is largely just a throwaway character but I'm not averse to having her make a later appearance if I can think of a good enough reason and back story. _

_The plan is to put a short flashback snippet at the start of each chapter, are there any particular scenes people want to see? Drop a review, tell me what you think. Feel free to make suggestions. _


	3. What Big Teeth You Have

Envenomed

Chapter Three: What Big Teeth You Have

_Matching gazes with the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office Harry came to a sudden if somewhat belated realisation. … He didn't know the password._

_He scratched his head sheepishly as he mentally went over a list of assorted confectionaries, both magical and muggle. He contemplated trying to simply recite the lot before dismissing the notion with an exasperated sigh. If he did that he'd be there for quite literally hours. Harry was a great many things but patient was not one of them._

"_Eh, I don't suppose you'd just let me through?" Harry asked hopefully. "I need to ask the Professor something."_

_The remarkably ugly piece of animated statuary eyed him beadily, squinting suspiciously. Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably under the penetrating stare. Finally after a long moment it grunted in acknowledgment and moved aside._

_Proceeding up the revolving staircase (and just what was the point of that anyway?) Harry took a moment to organise his thoughts._

_It was the evening after the end-of-year feast, tomorrow he would be on the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross. The prospect of spending yet another summer with his __**delightful**__ relatives was not an appealing one. In the normal course of things he'd probably be moping over the imminent weeks of mind numbing boredom, discomfort and muttered insults. At present however Harry had something rather more important than a few puffed up, self important and bigoted muggles on his mind._

_Voldemort._

_Ever since his epiphany in the aftermath of the debacle that became of the Third Task his thoughts had looped around in circles, continuously orbiting a single question: why? Why was Voldemort so fixated on him? Why go through with that ridiculously overcomplicated plot that ended with the ritual in the graveyard? Why target him and his family in the first place for that matter?_

_It couldn't __**all**__ be down to the dark wizard's ego, inflated though it undoubtedly was. There had to be something that prompted this vendetta. The words of the headmaster at the end of the first year echoed around his mind._

"_**Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day … put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know."**_

_He had let that pass at the time (not that he'd really had any choice in the matter) but now, now he needed to know - needed to understand. He deserved to know the truth._

_**It is a beautiful and terrible thing.**_

_Raising his hand Harry moved to knock on the door, yet before his knuckles touched its surface it swung open of its own volition. Making his way inside Harry was met by a now familiar sight. A handful of bulging bookcases lined the walls, the numerous portraits of headmasters and headmistresses past dozed within their frames above them. Or at least pretended to – he caught a glimpse of a few surreptitious glances, not to mention that some of the snores were horribly unconvincing. _

_A baffling array of devices that could only be described by such names as doohickey and whatchamacallit lay spread haphazardly over a number of spindly legged tables. Silver contraptions ticked, whirled, hissed and spun in dizzyingly chaotic patterns. There were even a few belching forth bursts of multicoloured smoke. Absently he wondered at what arcane purpose they had._

… _Wait; was that an __**egg-scrambler**__?!_

_He shook off the thought irritably, not important right now. Or at all, possibly._

_A musical chirp that lifted his spirits drew his gaze to the perch near the door. Fawkes sat there regally, his brilliant golden-red feathers glossy and shining. A far cry from the sickly creature Harry had met in his second year. He spared a smile for the proud phoenix before turning his attention to the room's other occupant._

_Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, flowing silvery beard covering his chest, piercing blue eyes glinting behind half-moon spectacles that sat upon his crooked nose. He was dressed in robes of a quite literally eye watering shade of fluorescent yellow outlined with lime green. Sometimes Harry wondered if the man was colour-blind or whether he just enjoyed the no doubt comical expressions people assumed upon seeing his chosen garments. Somehow he suspected the latter._

"_Harry my boy." He greeted cheerfully, eyes twinkling in their trademark fashion. Was there a spell to make them do that, he wondered? "What a pleasant surprise. Come in, do take a seat."_

"_Good evening sir." He replied, sinking gratefully into a chair. "Sorry to disturb you so late but I wondered if I might have a word." _

"_Not to worry, though I do believe you've had several already." He answered, eyes shining with mischief. "But by all means, proceed."_

"_Thank you sir." Harry paused then trying to work out how to approach the issue. He really should have planned out what to say earlier he realised belatedly. He drew a breath then, deciding simply to drive right in._

"_Professor, I… I was wondering… I asked you a question at the end of my first year and I'd… I'd like to know the answer now." Then added as an afterthought. "Please."_

"_Ah. I see." Dumbledore seemed to age visibly in front of his very eyes. Weariness made his shoulders slump slightly, the ever-present twinkle dimming with sadness and regret. He seemed reluctant to speak and so Harry, sensing that his chance might be slipping away, hastened to plead his case._

"_He's back now, properly back. Voldemort's not just going to give up on me. He's after me, I may not know why but that much is painfully obvious. He'll come for me again sooner or later and I'll need to be ready for him, I realise that now. But I can't; not really, not without knowing why - not without knowing what he wants from me."_

_The impassioned plea startled the headmaster, though he did not show it. Instead his normally cheerful visage closed off and became unreadable. He looked over his glasses and met Harry's determined gaze assessing._

_Whatever he was looking for he apparently found it. He let out a weary sigh but nodded in acquiescence, his shoulders straightening once more._

"_Very well, Harry. I only hope you can forgive me. I had hoped not to burden you with this knowledge so soon but, alas, the fates conspire against us." He paused then troubled. After a moment he made a small sound, clearly deciding upon something._

_Dumbledore rose abruptly, lurid robes swirling around him, and hurried over to one of the bulging bookcases that made up his private collection. He pried free a slender tome then returned to place it on his desk, sitting back down._

"_It begins with a prophecy." Dumbledore began solemnly. "A prophecy about the birth of one who would have the power to destroy the Dark Lord. A prophecy about __**you**__, Harry."_

_He blinked, reeling internally, his expressive face suddenly blank. He felt numb – dimly aware that he was likely in shock. He settled in to listen and absorb it all._

"_It begins thusly: __**'The one with the power the vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…'**__" He stopped here. "There is more to it of course, but that is the part that Voldemort heard – what set him after your family. I dare not tell you the rest, not for the moment at least."_

_Seeing Harry open his mouth the headmaster raised a hand to forestall any objections._

"_Note that I only said __**for the moment**__. Before we proceed I must ask first ask that you read through this carefully." He nudged the book over to Harry with a gnarled finger. "Read it and perform the exercises therein to the best of your ability."_

_Puzzled, the younger wizard picked up the book. It wasn't particularly thick, little over two hundred pages at a guess, and light. He turned it over and read the title aloud._

"_**Defensive Mind Magic: The Art of Occlumency**__. Sir?" He asked with a perplexed frown. "What __**is**__ Occlumency?"_

_Dumbledore made a humming sound as he pondered how best to answer the query._

"_In simple terms it is an art concerned with the organisation of one's mind and protecting it from external sources, primarily its opposite number – Legilimency." Seeing the curiosity burning in Harry's eyes he answered the unspoken question._

"_Legilimency is the art of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and interpreting one's findings. It is not mind reading as the muggles envision it but the term is 'close enough for government work' as I believe the saying goes. Most pressing for us is the fact that Voldemort is quite the accomplished Legilimens, and your curse-scar leaves you open to him - hence your dreams. With Occlumency you should be able to close off the connection and eventually protect yourself even from direct mental assault._

"_Practise over the summer and come September I shall arrange for a proper teacher to instruct you personally. I shall test you periodically and when I am satisfied with your progress I will recite the prophecy in full and tell you anything else you wish to know. I swear it."_

_A steady gaze brought home the seriousness of this request and Harry nodded gravely in response. Tucking the Occlumency tome inside his robes he rose to his feet._

"_I won't let you down sir, I promise."_

_Dumbledore smiled with pride, the twinkle returning at last and bringing his wizened face to life._

"_I know you won't, dear boy. I know."_

* * *

The first thing Harry felt when he awoke was an overwhelming sense of relief. Finally at long last there was no pain, no swirling ocean of fire. For one long moment this absence was all he could comprehend.

The second thing that Harry felt was confusion. The cave was dark; he remembered that much through the haze of weariness that had afflicted him when he found it. The shaft of light that pierced it from the entrance provided just barely enough illumination to reveal the cave's general shape to the human eye. And yet… and yet to Harry it might as well be bathed in sunlight.

An odd blurriness encompassed everything though, it was as if he was in a well lit room but had forgotten to put his glasses on. He paused at that thought. He didn't remember taking them off and the enchantments on them made it all but impossible for them to simply have fallen free.

He raised a hand up to his face and trailed his fingers over his eyes. Cold metal and glass. Sure enough, there they were. With a small frown of puzzlement wrinkling his brow he plucked them free. He blinked, opened his eyes and gazed in wonder.

Clear.

Everything was visible in perfectly defined crystalline clarity, every swirl and shift in the rock face above him revealed to his new sight. If he cared to try he did not doubt that he'd be able to count each and every individual grain of compressed sediment, each quartz shard that made up its substance.

It was as if he had spent his entire life blindfolded and was now seeing for the first time. In comparison his normal sight even when wearing his glasses was like having mud in his eyes. Even the super-sensory charms that temporarily bestowed perfect vision paled in comparison to the clarity he was now capable of perceiving.

Dust particles danced and spun overhead, suspended in the beam of light, tiny planets spinning in looping orbits. No, not planets – instead a miniature asteroid field, the dust motes twirling in slow motion through their chaotic dance. Against the backdrop of crystal fragments glittering as if stars it was a surreally beautiful sight. Harry drew in a slow wondering breath watching keenly as it sent them spinning into a tempestuous frenzy.

Strange.

There was something indefinably… _off_ about that action. He could not quite put a finger on it but when he breathed there was something subtly _wrong_ about it. He pondered this new conundrum for a moment.

If he didn't know any better he'd say it felt… unnecessary. Yes, that was it exactly. Normally when one breathed there was a faint sense of relief brought about, though of course it went for the most part largely overlooked.

But this time? Nothing. His lungs did not wait upon such an action and as far as he could tell did not react in any way. They felt somehow obsolete. If he didn't miss his guess he'd say that breathing was no longer strictly compulsory for his continued survival. The implications of that were rather worrying actually.

"_I am honestly surprised no other vampire has snatched you up before now."_

_Oh dear._ He thought, feeling faintly queasy.

Slowly, afraid to confirm what he knew he would find, he reached in through the neck of his robes and placed a palm over his heart. Silence. Perfect stillness. His heart no longer stirred in his chest. Apparently the bite of that vampire woman was far more insidious than even he had feared.

Hand sliding free and down to his side, Harry sighed in resignation. Somehow he suspected that his involuntary recruitment as the latest member of the ranks of the blood-sucking undead was not going to go over well back home. Oh well, he'd cross that particular bridge when he came to it. No sense worrying about things he could not change. First off he had to actually _get_ home.

Working out where he was seemed a good place to start really. He made to move and almost before he was aware of even giving his body the command he was stood upright, blinking in surprise.

"Well… that'll take some getting used to." It could come in damn handy in the future though. He paused, blinking.

_Hang on a moment._

He raised his right hand up to eye level and stared in mute astonishment. Instead of torn and lacerated flesh peppered with vicious splinters of wand-wood he saw only smooth and unmarred skin. Though red brown streaks were smeared over it that was the sole evidence anything had ever been wrong with it at all.

He flexed that hand experimentally, feeling a surge of strength that was unusually potent as he did so. A thought struck and he prodded tentatively at his ribs. No pain there either. Not even the faintest bit of discomfort for that matter. Hand – healed, ribs – better than new, bruises – as if they'd never existed. Even the dull twinge of his recently repaired arm was vanished.

He felt good. No, that word entirely inadequate to describe the sense of supreme well being that suffused his form. It was not just the obvious injuries but all the little aches and pains that developed over time yet were scarcely noticed were all gone. He veritably _hummed_ with strength and vitality. It was almost as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving him free for the first time that he could recall.

The only thing that marred this was a faint heated ache in the back of his throat. Even this was not entirely unpleasant; it was almost as if he'd enjoyed a good Firewhiskey – an alcoholic burn. Though there was something almost akin to hunger about it too.

Odd. Something to be investigated in more detail later.

Striding towards the cave mouth in a swift and fluid stalk he noted absently that the protections he had woven over it had fallen. And some time ago at that, by his guess. In unanchored ward form the Entropus Shield lasted an average of three days unless overwhelmed earlier. That left an uncomfortably long time during which he was unconscious and vulnerable. It was lucky indeed that the vampire had not found him in his defenceless state.

Brilliant golden rays of sunlight seared into his sensitive retinas and, though they did no damage, he raised an arm to shield them on reflex. His eyes fixed upon that exposed limb and a strangled choking sound escaped from his throat.

The skin of his forearm was pale, even more so than usual – no doubt due to that lack of blood flow. That wasn't the bad part however. His arm was (though he was loathe to admit it even to himself) literally _sparkling_. It was as if every skin cell had been turned into a tiny reflective prism.

"I can't go out in public like this," Harry groaned out, horrified. "I look like a bleedin' disco ball!"

He shifted his arm slowly, watching with somewhat morbid fascination the scintillating shimmers of light. It was at once both a horribly embarrassing and strangely enthralling sight.

A crunching, grinding sound followed by a protesting metallic shriek drew his attention. It was his glasses. They were still clutched in his left hand – he'd quite forgotten about them with the novelty of his newfound abilities. Before they had been a little battered and with a crack through one of the lenses, but otherwise largely intact.

Now they were a twisted and malformed mess of wire and glass shards. A single distracted twitch of his hand around them had destroyed them as thoroughly as if they'd been run over by a car. And he hadn't even noticed he was doing it.

Damn. He'd really have to watch that.

He recalled the ease with which he'd been thrown and pinned, the terrible strength behind those slender fingers that with just a little more pressure could have crushed his skull like a watermelon in a vice. If he was even close to that strong now….

His face darkened at the thought of might happen if he tried to shake someone's hand. It would be entirely possible to accidently wrench their arm clean _off_. He suppressed a shudder.

Tilting his hand he let them fall to earth, the impact sounding oddly drum like to his enhanced hearing. Glancing at the glass shards upon his glittering palm speculatively he clenched his fist. A muted grinding sounded within his implacable grip. He opened his hand then tipped it, watching as the fine dust was carried away by the breeze.

Harry drew a deep breath, sampling the taste of the wind and the myriad scents it carried. Rock and loam, moisture from the trees and a small babbling brook, the earthy smell of bark and leaves. Looking down from his vantage point he could see the forest canopy stretching out for uncounted miles all around him. And there on the western horizon the steely grey mirror shine of the ocean. He could faintly taste its salty tang on the breeze.

Unfortunately he could also smell himself. Or more accurately the caked on layers of old sweat, miscellaneous grime and dried blood that clung to him and his clothes. Pulling a face that clearly conveyed his disgust he reached for the holster at his waist.

With infinite care he pulled the focus free, careful to only apply just enough pressure to ensure he didn't drop it. He did not care to have a repeat of the Spectacles Incident. Being stranded in an unknown place and deprived of the ability to perform all but a bare handful of spells did not appeal.

He ran a finger down it feeling the slickness of the polish, the whorls and grains of the wood and, above all, the core of seething magic burning in its heart. Ebony, twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring (from a particularly ill-tempered Hungarian Horntail), slightly bendy. Highly suited for combative magic and transfiguration.

It was a good match, better than most wizards could expect of a secondary wand, if not quite as good as his now sadly deceased holly and phoenix feather one. A surprisingly intense bubble of melancholy washed over him. He would dearly miss that wand. It had grown to become far more than a mere tool, an extension of his being, as much a friend as any of flesh and blood.

Grimacing, he flicked the wand over himself, muttering a cleansing spell – the lazy wizard's best friend. It was in fact the only spell Ron could cast wandlessly. He didn't want to ponder too deeply upon what that said about the aforementioned redhead's personal hygiene.

"_Lavo Corpus."_

As the charm took effect whisking away the accumulated dirt and grime it was only now he took notice of the changes to his voice. It was still recognisably him mind you, but was now slightly deeper, more melodious and honeyed, with a rumbling undertone that bespoke of power. It was the masculine equivalent of that vampire woman's, a most attractive voice.

He was starting to sense a theme here.

After eying his scorched and shredded robes with mild distaste he cast a _Reparo_ with a soundless twirl of his wrist.

Right then, given his glaring lack of Portkey-making skills (which was in hindsight a rather embarrassing oversight) he had no real choice but to make his way to a magical settlement and see about purchasing one. It was that or rely upon the painfully slow in comparison (if admittedly more comfortable) muggle transportation to get him within apparating range.

Finding some form of civilisation would be a good start. The wizard held his palm out flat before him, balancing the ebony rod upon it.

"_Point Me, Hogwarts."_ Not a twitch. For such an intensely magical beacon as Hogwarts to not register meant he was a very long way away indeed. Well outside his apparition range, as expected.

"_Point Me, British Ministry of Magic."_ Nada. He pursed his lips in thought. _"Point Me, nearest town."_

Magic stirred and the wand spun obediently to point unerringly to the south-west. A strong reading, he judged by the intensity of the pulse – likely little more than fifteen miles distant. He wished that he knew a more detailed method of information gathering but, alas, the subtleties of the assorted Tracking Charms were not really his forte. That was more Hermione's thing if truth be told, his skills tended towards the more overt - not to mention destructive.

He walked to the edge of the rock face and peered down at what was at an estimate a good fifty foot drop. Shrugging his shoulders indifferently he stepped over the edge and let gravity take him in its grip.

Time moved in gelatinous slow motion, the ground creeping towards him seemingly with interminable slowness. The air rushed around him to flick playfully at his skin. The incantation for the Feather-fall Charm lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he felt no pressing need to cast it. It was all so very easy; in that long instant his vampiric instincts spoke to him.

It took but the slightest adjustment of posture and he landed on the balls of his feet in a crouch, absorbing the tremendous energy of the impact with almost feline grace. There was no great crash as might be expected, indeed the sound would be barely noticeable a human, little louder than a softly closed door. It was all so very… effortless. No more difficult than hopping down the last step on the stairs.

Harry rose from his crouch, turned and surveyed the sheer rock face. A broad smile split his face, revealing shining white teeth.

"_Wicked_."

Perhaps this vampire business wasn't so bad after all. That leap wasn't _quite_ as much fun as flying, but then very little was.

Harry made a quick check to make certain of the direction he should head in. He replaced the wand and took an anticipatory breath, tensing his muscles in preparation. Then he was off, accelerating like a bullet fired from a gun.

His form vanished into a barely distinguishable blur as superhuman strength surged through his limbs. He moved so fast that it took but a little over a second to sprint down the rock-strewn slope and reach the edge of the forest proper.

At that frankly rather insane speed his surroundings should have been reduced to an indistinguishable smear, yet apparently vampirism took that into account since everything remained in perfect focus. He could see every pebble, every grain of sand, every blade of grass.

He was so absorbed in wonder in fact that he became quite thoroughly distracted. His inattention lasted for scarcely a hundredth of a second yet that was enough for him to plough straight into and _through_ a waist high boulder in his path.

With a thunderous boom it shattered into a thousand million tiny fragments which pin-wheeled all around him. He tracked them with intense fascination and, before the human mind would even have had time to register it, was past and into the undergrowth. Running straight through solid rock had not even noticeably slowed his momentum.

One would think that while moving at those speeds trees would be a significant obstacle, yet for a vampire's agility dodging them was as simple as breathing. There should not have been nearly enough time to process the sheer volume of data his incredible senses gathered, yet it seemed that in order to compensate every thought was accelerated a thousand fold.

It was not truly like being in slow motion at all; mere words could not hope to adequately describe the peculiarity of the situation. It was after all, beyond human comprehension. Harry remained suspended, caught in a perfect balance between speed and clarity.

He ducked and weaved, swerving around trees, leaping over and diving under branches as he lost himself to the sheer exhilaration. A joyous whoop of laughter escaped as a manic smile stretched across his face.

Limb strikes that would have raised welts and bruises upon tender mortal flesh felt much like trailing fingers. The wind of his passage whipped at his charcoal black hair and stirred the debris behind him, sucking it into the vortex that was created.

Each insignificant leaf, needle and crawling insect was plain to see. Though his wizard's senses had told him how alive this green maze was he did not truly comprehend the beauty and majesty of nature before now. Ambient magic saturated the air and tickled at his marble skin, creatures scurried through the undergrowth, and birds of innumerable species sang their chorus. Hundreds, nay – _thousands_ of tiny heartbeats thudded all around him. Saliva pooled in his mouth.

Instead of tiring and slowing down he hit his stride, an increasing surge of raw, un-tempered power charging his muscles. His loping strides stretched ever further, devouring ground at a terrible pace.

The wizard tilted his head as a strange sound carried on the breeze drifted to his ears, breaking through his joyous distraction. He skidded to an abrupt halt, carving a shallow ditch and kicking up a cloud of soil. A deep rhythmic thumping. Words. … Was that music?

Pushing through the bushes he emerged onto a roadside. Looking to his left he could see a truck into distance, though rapidly approaching, and…. He blinked momentarily confused. Were they driving on the wrong side of the road? He shook himself.

_Not in England, remember. _

Besides from what little he could remember from one of Hermione's numerous lectures he thought he recalled that there were actually more countries that drove on the right than the left. Which really didn't help to narrow things down.

_**That**__ on the other hand __**does**__._

His extraordinarily acute vision caught sight of a road sign, the words perfectly legible even at that great distance: 'Highway 101 – Forks, Washington – U.S.A.' America, eh? Well could be worse, at least the people actually spoke English here. Sort of. Undoubtedly a good thing since he had really not been looking forward to having to rely upon the notoriously patchy Translation Charms. At least that particular issue wouldn't come up.

On the downside he really didn't know magical America all that well. Other than the area immediately surrounding the Salem Witches' Institute he didn't know of any exclusively wizarding settlements. And if he was getting his geography right that was on the other side of the country entirely. Troublesome. Still, there were bound to be a fair few witches and wizards in each major city which meant a Portkey vendor was also likely. Might as well check out this Forks place first though. Who knew, he might get lucky.

His nostrils flared in response to a delectable scent that made his mouth water. It was warm, rich, and irresistible. Unconsciously he stilled, eyes darkening to onyx pits of hunger, dull heat burning in the back of his throat. In that moment nothing mattered but that glorious aroma. The truck roared ever closer and his legs tensed in preparation to pounce. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest.

The wind shifted without warning and, the entrancing smell banished, his head cleared noticeably. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he gagged. Dear Merlin, what was that _stench_?! It was like something had died, been left to rot in the sun for a week while immersed in refuse, then dragged through a sewer. It was so deeply unpleasant that it actually stung his sensitive nose.

He was so absorbed by hacking and coughing, trying to scrub frantically at his poor beleaguered nostrils that he nearly missed the second and final warning sign. The truck careened past unmolested.

There was a curious fluttering sensation prodding at the fringes of his mind that felt somehow vaguely hostile, though it was difficult to quantify. He realised abruptly that he had been feeling it for some time now as it drew ever closer but that it had been buried under a deluge of other sensations. Curious. It was almost as if he were performing passive Legilimency scans on an unshielded opponent and reading their hostility, getting a sense of their planned movement. This ability was invaluable and the reason why all competent duellists were at least marginally capable of Occlumency. Legilimency took conscious effort though, or at least it always had previously.

This strange sixth sense blared out a warning. On instinct he leaped skyward, obscene strength sending him rocketing above the treetops. Looking down he saw a great russet-furred back pass beneath his feet. Huge jaws snapped close on thin air exactly where the back of his neck had been a split second before. His eyes widened at the sight as he plummeted back to earth. He struck the forest floor in an explosion of debris and took off running.

There was no chance that _thing_ was natural and there was no way in hell he was going to stick around to fight an unknown supernatural predator that apparently considered vampires to be a tasty snack if he had anything to say about the matter. Though as it turned out he really didn't.

His senses cried out in warning again and he dove hastily to the side. A four-legged blur shot past him, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a tree. The glancing contact tore off a chunk of splintered bark as it passed. It whirled to face him, a menacing snarl ripping from within jaws parted in a feral grin.

It was a wolf, though in general shape only. It was thicker than any natural wolf, with great slabs of muscle rippling under short but thick and shaggy brown fur. Unusually long dagger-like teeth extended from its jaws. It was monstrously huge, not quite as big as a horse, though there wasn't too much difference between them.

It wasn't a werewolf that much was certain. This creature was equally as distorted, though in a different manner. Werewolves were smaller, only a little larger than a natural wolf and distinguishable by several key characteristics: the pupils of the eyes, blunted snout shape, tufted tail and subtly stretched forelimbs. There was also the glaringly obvious fact that werewolves only assumed lupine form under the influence of a full moon. At this moment the moon was not even close to full, not to mention the fact it was the middle of the sodding day.

On the other hand given how ridiculously overpowered the vampire was in comparison to the ones he was used to, he supposed that it wasn't entirely improbable for there to be another breed of were as well. He liked the situation less and less with each passing moment.

The pseudo-werewolf's sheer size and evident power was not the most worrying part, however. No, that was the obvious glimmer of intelligence that shone in those lupine eyes behind the grey mask. That was not good, not at all. Werewolves were deadly beings but largely instinctual. With hair trigger tempers and no rational thought to speak of it was a relatively simple matter for the canny wizard to outwit and manoeuvre them into such a position where they could either be subdued or dealt with in a more… decisive fashion. Harry doubted that would be the case here.

His Legilimency (and it _was_ Legilimency he realised now, though he had no real idea why he couldn't seem to stop doing it) was clearly able to pick up on its palpable rage and hostility. Looking into its eyes he caught a single word before the unconscious probe was drowned in mental static: LEECH.

Leech? That sounded suspiciously like a derogatory term for vampire. So, racist werewolves then. Oh joy.

While that little titbit didn't exactly fill him with warm and fuzzy feelings it did at least lend credence to his suspicions. One: the wolf was indeed sapient. Two: it was indeed hunting him. Or perhaps just vampires in general. Wistfully he hoped that the red-eyed bitch that had attacked him had had a similar encounter. One could dream.

If it was intelligent then perhaps it could be reasoned with. While it gave the impression of being the bite first, ask questions later sort it couldn't hurt to try at least. He really wanted to avoid a fight if at all possible.

"Er, hi there." He began with a rather weak wave. "I don't suppose we could talk about this?" A low rumble was his only reply.

"Alright, hey I get it. You've probably not had much in the way of good experiences with vampires (nor have I for that matter)" He muttered in an aside. "But honestly I don't mean any harm. To you _or_ anyone else."

He had a split second's warning. Ethereal tendrils of Mind Magic felt the simmering resentment flare into a fiery rage and picked up on a few disjointed lines of speech.

"Red eyes – fed on human blood – LIAR." And then it lunged.

Harry dove to the side, rolled and drew his wand in a single smooth and practised motion. Despite being accelerated a dozen times from his norm it was a simple thing.

_Exturbo!_

The wizard flicked his wrist, sending a vibrant vermillion jet of light hissing through the air. Catching the wolf unawares it struck its left flank with an orange flash. The wolf staggered, momentarily disorientated, but did not collapse as it should have.

Damn, magical resistance. Not good, he should have anticipated this. He'd hoped to take out his adversary quickly, without fuss and preferably without ripping it to bloody shreds with high-level curses. Hence the stunning spell, though naturally it was one significantly more potent than a mere _Stupefy_. The basic Stunning Charm was all well and good for human use but the wolf had considerably greater mass to effect.

On the plus side the spell _had_ done something. Which meant said resistance was less than that of a mountain troll and not anywhere close to that of a dragon. (Thank Merlin). Thankfully that meant Harry shouldn't have to resort to any of the _really_ nasty stuff to take it down. Good. Tearing living things into gory chunks always made him feel more than a little queasy.

But what to use? A few strategically placed piercing curses and a binding spell should about do it he decided. He jabbed his wand, focusing on a single word.

_Perforo!_

A shining silvery bolt spat forth unerringly at the great beast. It plunged into its hindquarters, producing a pained yelp and a spray of steaming hot blood. The Impaling Curse had punched a fist wide hole into its thigh. It did not look best pleased by this development.

With incredible swiftness boosted to an obscene level by vampiric speed Harry's wand dipped and spun silently. A further three blazing spears of magic lanced out, followed by a writhing ball of compressed luminescent chains.

The wolf learned quickly however and, in a clear display of both intelligence and astounding physical ability, managed to somehow dodge them all. In a fraction of a second it processed the danger and reacted.

Dropping to its belly on the earth the first spell soared over its shoulder blades, close enough to ruffle fur with its passage. It dove forwards, the second curse searing the trailing tip of its tail, the third skimming the underside of its stomach. A dip of the head sent the binding spell careening off to the side where it struck a tree, wrapping it tightly in chains of glowing silver. Two of the piercing curses plunged harmlessly to earth, carving shallow trenches on impact. The other bored through a stray boulder, sundering it in two with a retort like that of a gunshot.

… _You've got to be kidding me._ He thought incredulously. How was that even possible?

Granted, the Impaling Curse was far from the fastest spell around and it was admittedly far from subtle. But still, to dodge not one but _three_ and while injured at that was damn impressive. Pushing his stupefaction aside he didn't dare let up on his assault, else the beast would be on him in a heartbeat (figuratively speaking of course).

With unnatural swiftness the great wolf charged towards him, feinting in a zigzag pattern. An obvious pre-emptive attempt at avoiding spellfire which never came. Instead Harry gave his wand a gentle upwards flick.

A shining pane of transparent blue burst into being at an angle. The wolf ran into it and up the ramp-like surface of energy, causing a brilliant flare of light with each footstep. He flung his wand skyward and the Shield Charm moved with it, sending the shaggy behemoth high into the air before dissipating.

It spun helplessly, all its speed and tremendous strength suddenly rendered useless, legs flailing for purchase that was nowhere to be found. A jab sent a seething orb of compressed wind to strike like a wrecking ball with force that dwarfed the cannon fire that the spell was named for. The howl of tempestuous fury covered a cry of pain as the impact of a charm strong enough to bludgeon a troll into insensibility snapped ribs all down one side and sent the creature spinning like a pinball.

A sharp and imperious downwards slash created a wide vertical column of highly intensified gravitational pull. The wolf's trajectory abruptly altered and it plummeted to earth, an angry and rather confused meteor. A tremor ran through the ground underfoot, a concentric circle of dust rising around the point of impact. The wolf twitched feebly, obviously stunned by the sudden and repeated trauma.

An elastic rope of shining neon light shot out and wrapped around the beast with shimmering cords of magic. A lashing motion yanked the wolf through the air towards the waiting wizard.

The Grappling Charm dissolved into luminous motes.

A rippling pillar of raw force exploded from the tip of Harry's ebony wand. It struck in the stomach, driving what little breath remained from the creature in a sudden exhalation. The wolf shot through the air, fast as a bullet, and hit a particularly broad trunk dead centre. An agonised yelp followed the sound of further breaking bones as splinters of pulverised wood fountained outwards. The entire tree reverberated from the force of it, a shower of dislodged leaves drifting slowly down.

Harry's opponent dropped, limbs lax now - though still twitching feebly. Despite the huge amount of blunt force trauma it had sustained the beast was still very much alive, though it was clearly not in any sort of position to be causing trouble anytime soon.

Taking in the sight of his fallen adversary with a thoroughly self satisfied grin Harry decided not to take any chances.

_Ferratilis._

A silent swish sent another ball of conjured fetters soaring forth. They encased the insensible werewolf wannabe, trussing it up tightly in softly glowing chains of silvery magic. An _Exturbo_ followed as an afterthought a moment later.

"Ha, take that!" He jeered, caught up in the exhilaration of a successful fight against a strong opponent in a life or death struggle. "Not so tough now are we, you furry bas-_URK_!"

The Legilimency warning came a fraction of a second too late.

Harry twisted desperately – too slow. From out of nowhere a pair of great bestial jaws exploded forth and closed decisively around his wand arm. He managed to shift just enough so that instead of the second wolf biting his armed hand clean off its mouth closed around his forearm.

This one was of a similar size to the previous, but with a pelt of dull silver-grey.

Teeth tougher than steel punched through diamond flesh with a rocky grinding shriek. Harry screamed in pain as fangs tore into his skin, though no blood spilled out. Instinctively he lashed out at his attacker's nose. Crimson spurted out but it refused to release its grip. Instead growling and beginning to twist.

Fighting down the surge of panic Harry curled up his left hand and jabbed the two extended fingers into its neck with bruising force. He reached within, grasped the roiling torrent of magic and felt it surge down his arms in response to his will.

"_TAX!" _He hissed.

The Shock Charm is an unusual spell, as a defensive measure it was designed to be easy to cast wandlessly. For most it would produce a painful but non-harmful electrical spark. In the hand of those with some degree of skill with wandless magic this is magnified to mimic the effects of a muggle taser, hence the charm's unofficial name amongst muggleborns and halfbloods. This second was what Harry was aiming for – stun the beast momentarily, force it to release him, and then start flinging painful and debilitating curses as quickly as he could manage. Which with the vampiric boost was pretty damn fast.

It did not happen quite like that in practise.

Instead his hand was engulfed in a flickering halo of spitting blue-white arcs of electricity that discharged immediately into the nearest target. The artificial lightning bolt ripped through the wolf's body making it convulse uncontrollably and throwing it back as if hit by a speeding car. The flash of light and thunderous CRACK was accompanied by a high whine of animalistic agony. The sweet scent of ozone blended with the rank stench of burnt hair to fill the atmosphere.

Harry blinked.

"I meant to do that." He muttered weakly, flexing his newly freed wrist experimentally. It hurt like hell but function did not seem to be noticeably impaired. The same could not be said for his wand however. His keen eyed gaze plainly saw the tiny fractures creeping down its length.

"Oh, shit." He breathed, eyes widening incrementally.

His mind flashed back over the horror stories of what happened to wizards who tried casting with damaged foci, not to mention the Lockhart Catastrophe of second year. Damn it, there really weren't much worse times for this to happen. It seemed wands were simply not created with vampire strength in mind, however much it was held back.

Strangely overpowered Shock Charm notwithstanding Harry didn't trust his novice wandless abilities in a fight against so formidable a creature. He had yet to advance to casting anything truly destructive or powerful without the aid of a focus, a focus which was no longer usable unless he wanted to risk spontaneously transfiguring his head into a cabbage. (And yes, that had indeed rather famously happened to an especially unfortunate witch some few years ago).

"Oh hell. I think that's my cue to leave." Tossing a red bolt of light in an effort to buy another second he turned and _ran_.

Rapidly accelerating into a reddish blur of motion he vanished into the forest. Strength thrummed untiringly through his legs as his strides devoured a mile, two, three, four.

A tingling at the fringes of his mind attracted his attention and he flicked a glance back over his shoulder, casually leaping a fallen tree as he did so. A grey blur trailed behind him, visible through the undergrowth in brief flashes detectable only thanks to his heightened senses.

He was ahead for now but the distance was gradually closing. There wasn't a great deal of difference in speed between them but the wolf seemingly had a slight advantage. Probably due to being quadrupedal he realised. Harry was faster in a sprint over a short distance and likely a fair bit more agile in close quarters, but the fact remained that over an extended chase four legs beat two. When the biped was the one being chased at any rate. The fact that the creature pursuing him knew the woods a great deal better likely did him no favours.

A broken branch sounded to his right, much closer than he had anticipated. A third wolf bounded alongside and a little behind. This one was even larger than the others, and with dark black fur. So heavily built was this one that an inexperienced eye might be forgiven for confusing it with a bear at a distance. Another backwards glance showed the grey wolf glaring ferociously, fur ruffled and with a distinctly irked expression.

With a start he remembered one very crucial fact that he had somehow overlooked before: wolves were pack hunters.

_Fuck fuck fuckity-fuck, got to get away NOW._

In response to that fervent single-minded focus his magic surged up around him unchannelled, an unseen storm of arcane might. And then Harry Potter: wizard, slayer of the Dark Lord Voldemort and newborn vampire vanished mid step, disappearing in the blink of an eye into a vortex of eldritch power.

A peal of thunder rolled out in an invisible wave to shake the heavens.

* * *

_A/N: And with that we move away from Forks for a good long while._

_Apologies for the delay in posting. I actually meant to put this up on Saturday morning but ended up getting distracted and completely forgot about it - so it's been sitting around since then. My bad. I just hope the slightly increased length of the chapter makes up for it somewhat._

_I'd like to thank everyone that followed and faved last chapter and especially those who took the time to write a review. You guys are awesome._


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